Yeah, and I walked right out of ground school and flew a T-34 by myself too. Sure he had — after countless hours of dual-controls flight with an instructor, simulator training, and a careful practical walk-through by more experienced aviators.
Maybe the same principles applied to learning to be a leader. It was possible — just barely possible — that he’d been wrong.
The heat in the Tomcat’s cockpit seemed more bearable than it had a few minutes earlier. When he got back, he’d go have a chat with the chief. It might be time to listen instead of talk for a while.
Bird Dog felt the Tomcat shudder, and steam pressure immediately began building in the steam piston below the decks. The shuttle holding the aircraft on the catapult transmitted the vibrations to his bird. A Yellow Shirt darted forward and out of view under the aircraft. He came out carrying six red streamers — Bird Dog counted them carefully as the ragged ends whipped in the wind. They were the safety pins on his weapons, which were now fully operational.
Another Yellow Shirt held up a white board with grease-penciled numbers on it, giving the Tomcat’s takeoff weight as it was currently configured. Two Phoenixes, two Sparrows, and two Sidewinders hung beneath his wings, a full range of ACM weaponry. Bird Dog begrudged the Phoenixes the space they took up; he would have preferred to have a full load of the more dependable Sidewinders.
Bird Dog nodded vigorously at the Yellow Shirt, confirming the launch weight. The Yellow Shirt held up his thumb, and then snapped his hand up in a salute, the signal that he was transferring complete responsibility for the aircraft to Bird Dog. He returned the salute. Somehow, the simple flight deck ceremony took on more meaning for him now. It was no longer an archaic ritual that impeded his speedy progress off the deck, but an exchange of responsibility as significant as any in the Navy. It was given and received as a sign of respect between men and women who shared similar responsibilities and burdens of serving their country, regardless of their education, background, or pay grade. It made them, for that split moment, anyway, equals.
He dropped his salute and shoved the throttle forward to full military power. A split second later, the Tomcat slammed him in the back.
Airborne!
CHAPTER 25
As the coastline of Vietnam slipped by below him, Bien made the call to the rest of the aircraft. “Feet wet,” he said, referring to the fact that he was over water rather than land. Not that it would matter. There were no SAR forces standing by.
He then reached down and flipped the protective plastic cover off of the IFF gear. He looked down long enough to check the position of the dials that set his modes and codes, the unique set of IFF symbols that would identify his aircraft to any unit with the appropriate detection gear. He twisted the dial until the numbers his Vietnamese superiors had given him were displayed.
In the ten miles of airspace around him, every Vietnamese pilot was doing exactly the same things.
“About time,” Jefferson’s TAO said, as a massive gaggle of hostile air contact symbols popped onto the big screen display. “I was starting to think they changed their minds.” The weak joke brought a spatter of laughter from the crews manning the consoles, the only indication that tensions were at a peak.
“Sir! Breaking the IFF codes for the Vietnamese forces!” the OS said.
“Thank God,” the TAO said quietly. “It looks like this crazy plan just might work.”
Exactly one minute after he’d changed the IFF codes, Bien shoved his throttle forward, accelerating quickly to 580 knots. At that speed, his jet gulped down fuel at a prohibitive rate. Fortunately, he thought as he observed the fuel gauge quiver, it wouldn’t be for long. He glanced behind him, watching the orderly Vietnamese formation straggle out into a ragged line of aircraft and then coalesce back into a fighting unit that followed him. He banked hard to the south and watched the others follow. Only twenty seconds had elapsed since his speed increase. His radio crackled with orders and demands for information. All the questions were in Chinese.
And that is exactly the wrong language for answers, Bien thought grimly.
“There they go,” Tombstone said. “Those birds breaking off and heading south are Vietnamese.”
“Roger,” the TAO acknowledged. “We know who the good guys are now, sir. I’ll make sure Vincennes understands, too.”
“What’s she doing?” Tombstone demanded. The speed leader attached to the ship’s symbol had suddenly changed directions.
“Headed south at thirty knots. Still out of missile range and screaming bloody murder!”
“Give me that handset,” Tombstone ordered. The TAO turned over his tactical circuit to the admiral. “Get your ass back up north, Killington!”
“Are you fucking insane? You’ve got inbound hostile air, with only a couple of frigates around you! The FFG’s standard missiles have a maximum range of twenty-five miles, you idiot! You need us there!”
“I also have two squadrons of Tomcats and two of Hornets airborne!” Tombstone snapped. “These are Flankers, Killington! Fighters! The only thing they carry is air-to-air missiles, not air-to-surface ship missiles! And if those Flankers are carrying anything heavier, it’s a laser-guided or dumb bomb, and they’re so weighed down that they’re dead meat!”
“You’re dead, you know,” Killington said in a cold, calm voice. “May God forgive you for what you’re doing to your crew.”
“I may be dead, but you’re relieved! TAO, are you listening?” Tombstone demanded.
A long pause, then a tight, higher-pitched voice broke in on the circuit. “Sir, this is Lieutenant Commander Carson, TAO.”
“Son, get your Executive Officer up to Combat ASAP. And log it now — Captain Killington is hereby relieved of command, and ordered to report to the Jefferson. Your XO has command of the ship, and you are on watch as TAO until further notice. Got that?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Very well. Now get that ship back in position. We believe you have about five minutes, at the most, until you start picking up inbound long-range cruise missiles. I’m counting on Vincennes to stop them. Any questions?”
“Uh, no. Admiral, the captain-” the TAO paused, and Tombstone heard screaming in the background noise “-Captain Killington, I mean, is demanding to speak to you.”
“Let him listen, then. Captain Killington, you are to station yourself in your helo hangar until I give the orders for your helo to transport you to Jefferson. Under no circumstances are you to remain in CIC, nor are you to give any orders on any subject to any member of your crew. TAO, you will call the ship’s security force to CIC, and have Captain Killington removed. You understand?”
“Admiral,” a new voice broke in, “this is the Executive Officer. I’ve heard your orders, and we will follow them. And my apologies,” he said, his voice suddenly hitched up a few notes, “but the rest of this will need to wait. I’m about to be real busy.” Abruptly, the circuit went dead.
“I guess you are,” Tombstone said quietly, and handed the handset back to his own TAO. Plastered on the tactical screen, in single-file formation, were ten LINK tracks with missile symbols imposed over the radar, just leaving the coast of China and heading south. “Now let’s see if the Aegis is all it’s cracked up to be.”